


The 2nd Experiment

by Soquilii9



Category: Leverage
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-09
Updated: 2014-05-09
Packaged: 2018-01-24 04:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,586
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1591154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Soquilii9/pseuds/Soquilii9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Eliot, in good faith, takes on a solitary job close to his heart. When it goes south, Leverage, Inc. gears up!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> BASED ON THE EXPERIMENTAL JOB
> 
> By Soquilii & RowingMaiden
> 
> The team: Nate-mind; Eliot-hands; Hardison-eyes; Sophie-heart; Parker-legs. How does the body adapt when it loses a part of itself? I gave the team a new building in Portland. I figure they deserve it.

Heavy black clouds roiled overhead, sending waves of thunder echoing through the buildings of downtown Portland. Sharp needles of rain began their assault, punching at Eliot's jacket, stinging his face; small streams trickling down the long strands of his dark hair, plastering them to his face. He shook his head, flinging them away in irritation. The weather matched his mood. Depositing a trail of puddles, he sloshed his way into the building and onto the elevator. Once at the new Leverage Headquarters, he stalked past the dining room, barely acknowledging the greetings of his cohorts.

'Hey...Eliot! Dude!' Hardison yelled after him. 'Hey…it's lunchtime! Ain't you cooking?' After a pause, he shrugged and reached for his phone. 'Humph. Guess not. Awright, AWRIGHT, then, who wants pizza for lunch? I'm in the mood for pizza. I'll call it in; I'm willin' to do that much,' he stated emphatically. 'And everybody gets the same damn thing. Not having any of this 'I want that' or 'I don't want this on mine' shit; it's plain pepperoni with onions for everybody, and if you don't like it, you can...'

No one paid any attention to Hardison's ramblings; they were focused on the surly apparition that had briefly invaded their space. Each glanced at the other. 'Well. He seemed in a rather bad mood,' Sophie stated the obvious in her smooth English accent.

'There's something wrong with him,' Parker chirped darkly. 'I mean, more than usual.' She jerked her head at Hardison, frowning. 'I want anchovies.' Hardison, phone to ear, bugged his eyes at her and held up a warning index finger.

Nate watched Eliot pass by without so much as a hello or kiss-my-ass. With a sigh, he knocked back the last of his single malt scotch and set the glass down. 'Yes, I would say so,' he agreed with Parker's earlier remark. Sophie watched uneasily as Nate went for a refill. He caught her eye: At this hour? Her expression spoke volumes. Nate sighed, nodded and set the bottle down. 'I'll give him a few minutes. Talk to him, find out what's wrong. Meanwhile, you guys get to work on this job you're planning. Tell me again? Where and how long?'

Sophie, in an exasperated tone, repeated herself. 'For the thousandth time, Nate: LA; we leave this afternoon; everything's arranged; we'll be back within ten days. Diamond swindler; old lady victim. We get her family heirlooms back. Piece of cake. We won't need a hitter for this one. I just hope you two boys stay out of trouble while we're gone.'

'Not gonna happen,' Parker opined.

'Tempting fate to leave 'em alone,' Hardison replied.

Sophie rolled her eyes.

'Pizza's on its way,' Hardison proclaimed.

~~~~~~~~~~

The new building's top floor housed not only Hardison's self-designed state-of-the-art computer and video setups, it contained small apartments for all of them. Sophie and Nate had their own sumptuous places outside of town, but this was a communal place to rally, plan jobs, wind down or just hide out. Eliot, Hardison and Parker practically lived there.

Nate paused at Eliot's door, rubbed his chin, then tapped softly. 'Eliot. Eliot? What's going on?'

No answer.

Nate entered, loudly announcing his presence. Eliot came from the bathroom, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. He glowered at Nate.

'You look like something's on your mind.'

Eliot motioned Nate to sit, threw the towel carelessly on the floor and, pacing, came out with it. 'It's about a job.'

'Don't I usually line those out for everybody?'

'Not this one. I get to do this one. Alone. The others'll be gone, anyway, right?'

'Yeah. What's so important about this one?'

Eliot ran his hands through his hair. 'Remember the experiment in Boston?'

'With the vets, yeah. Yeah, I remember.'

'Somebody's doin' it again, Nate – right here in Portland. I gotta stop 'em.'

'Experimenting? What, some college study?'

'Something else – some other group.'

'Intel?'

'Good enough.'

Nate nodded. Eliot was the man for the job; he trusted him to work independently.

'All right, I want a briefing after the others leave.' He stepped away, then turned back. 'Eliot - doing this alone - you'll maintain communications. Wear your ear bud. Right?' It wasn't a question and Eliot knew it.

'You bet.'

~~~~~~~~~~

The team was gone by 3:00. Nate gleefully poured another single malt; what Sophie didn't know wouldn't hurt her. There was enough pizza to make do for dinner; Eliot wasn't in the mood to cook. He warmed it up and popped opened a beer.

'OK, line it out for me,' said Nate, biting into refurbished pizza.

'I was in a bar,' Eliot began. 'This old dude comes up like he knows me. He looks familiar, but I can't place him; he's got one arm, he's in rags, and I gotta tell ya, I held my breath the whole time I was talkin' to him… or, while he was talkin' to me.'

Nate listened impassively. 'Go on.'

**_~Flashback~_ **

Eliot was sitting alone at his favorite neighborhood bar, nursing a beer and watching rain streak the windows. Every so often, he cast a sidelong glance at the waitress and when he caught her eye, he winked at her. He drained his beer and was about to order another.

'Say - ain't you that guy?'

Eliot glanced at the intruder, frowning. 'What guy? Who wants to know?' he growled.

The old man took a seat on the next barstool without a by-your-leave. 'I knowed it was you. You sprung us from that hellhole in Boston. Mack, r'member? Semper fi!' He gestured with his left hand to an empty right sleeve. 'Lost that fine tattoo, 'long with my arm, since then. Made m'way across the country, lookin' for sump'n better. Luck would have it, ran into almost the same damn thing at the shelter downtown, some guy from a lab'ritory or somethin' buyin' up vets livin' on the street, right here in Portland.'

Eliot sized him up, remembering. Although he'd stepped up, it hadn't turned out to be a fun job…far from it…not that any of them were fun, just some were more bearable than others. The memory of that one still burned. 'You didn't get in on it,' Eliot guessed.

'Nope. Grapevine said you and the folks you work with was here. Thought you could he'p 'em.'

'What's in it for you?'

'A little payback, maybe. That's all. Say, son…would you do an old friend a favor an' gimme a sip o'that beer?'

Eliot motioned to the waitress, winked at her again, pointed to his beer and held up two fingers.

'Thanks, buddy.'

**_~End Flashback~_ **

'I'm to meet him at the bus stop tomorrow morning,' said Eliot. His zen-like demeanor crumbled slightly; emotions actually flitted across his face. Nate looked at him sharply. 'I wasn't sure I wanted the job at first,' Eliot said quietly. 'Had to think about it.'

When Eliot had to 'think about something,' Nate knew, he'd walk, sometimes for miles, until he sorted it out. This time, however, there was a flaw. 'Eliot,' said Nate, 'this isn't our usual type of job. Strikes me as a favor. You're just gonna waltz in there and check it out? All the old man wants is payback? That doesn't exactly make him a client. Where's the con?'

'Does there always have to be a con? Sometimes a favor is its own reward, ain't it? I'm a retrieval specialist, right? All I want is the satisfaction of gettin' those guys out of there.'

'How do you plan to do that?'

'Wing it.'

'You up to it?'

Eliot's piercing blue eyes met Nate's penetrating gaze. 'Hell, yeah.'


	2. Chapter Two

**_~Flashback~_ **

Damien Moreau looked out over the gleaming expanse of his desk and beckoned Eliot Spencer to approach. The younger man, in jungle fatigues and combat boots, clean-shaven, hair military length, waited patiently. No dog tags hung at his neck. He had once pledged allegiance to a nation but no longer did so – except to himself and the man he worked for.

Moreau spoke in a clipped, foreign accent as he selected from a stack several papers, fitting them carefully into a manila file. 'I have a job for you, Mr. Spencer.'

'Sir.'

Moreau smiled. 'At ease, Mr. Spencer.' Eliot had worked for Moreau as a retrieval specialist and hired assassin for several years; he was one of the best. Moreau felt fortunate to have such an able man on his payroll. He continued, 'One of my, shall we say, associates has done something that greatly displeases me. Therefore, I require his removal.'

'Off the island, or…' Eliot knew what Moreau was going to say.

'Off the planet, Mr. Spencer. Off the planet,' Moreau chuckled as he lifted the file he was holding and ostentatiously let it fall into the wastebasket. He slowly looked up at Eliot. 'He is to be...eradicated. Do you understand?'

Eliot's full lips compressed into a firm, thin line. 'You got it. Sir.'

Moreau handed Eliot a sheet of paper. 'Your instructions. You have the specialized equipment, I presume.'

Eliot scanned the paper. 'Rifle with thermal imaging scope.' He looked at Moreau and nodded.

Moreau saw something in Eliot's face; he leaned back in his chair, considering. 'Do you hesitate, Mr. Spencer?'

'No, sir… but before I kill a man I'd like to know why I'm killing him.' His piercing blue eyes bored into Moreau's. Moreau leaned forward, placing both hands on the arms of his chair as if about to get up.

'That is not your affair. You work for me. I pay you well to follow my orders, do I not?' In the pause that ensued, there was clarity between the two men. Eliot knew what he had to do; Moreau trusted him to do it. 'I will ensure the mark is at the location on the date and time specified. I leave the rest to you.'

Eliot dipped his head stiffly, turned on his heel and walked out.

**_~End Flashback~_ **

Eliot's outfit was the same as for the last job; knit cap, camouflage jacket. A two-day beard rounded it off. As promised, his earbud was firmly in place; he nodded to the old man who had agreed to meet him at the bus stop and quietly communicated his status just before boarding the city bus. Many stops later, he and the old man were on the northern outskirts of Portland, near where the Willamette River met the Columbia. The bus deposited them at a nondescript metal warehouse, one of many, but the only one with two green doors. Once inside, they were immediately separated by two security guards.

Eliot was roughly steered to a dimly-lit room, for what he assumed would be the setting for his first interrogation, and flung down into a metal chair. The guard added to his irritation by handcuffing him to the leg of a heavy table. He waited for what seemed like hours.

Finally, a single overhead light buzzed; bright light bathed the top of the pitted table. Eliot squinted against it until his eyes adjusted. The door behind him opened; instead of the lab-jacketed doctor or the interrogator he had expected, he found himself face-to-face with none other than CIA operative Conrad Mason, recognizable from the job back in Boston.

He stared at Eliot for a long time. Eliot coolly stared back.

'You're wondering what's going on, aren't you? Mason asked, sardonically.

Eliot said nothing. No way was he asking questions. He had a gut feeling what was going on as he waited for confirmation. It came.

'It's simple enough. You work for a man I've been tracking a long, long time, from one end of the country to the other,' said Mason. 'I've been keeping tabs on your team. Such a variety of con jobs, complicated, well-executed, always illegal. Yet somehow you always slip detection. This boss of yours, Nate Ford - I think it's time I brought him in before he does any more damage. You're going to help me with that.'

Eliot spoke up. 'Nate doesn't cause damage. Not in the way you think. He provides leverage; a way to correct it. Any damage is caused mostly by people like you.'

'We were hoping you would cooperate with us. Voluntarily give us some intel on Nate Ford. As for his team, well, we might look the other way if you give him to us. We already have you. You can't deny the damage you've caused.'

For a CIA agent, you're a bottom-dweller, Mason, Eliot was thinking. An agent who would protect someone like Zilgram. Who would allow helpless men to be brutalized. Who would participate in a cover-up. He looked up at Mason in contempt. 'Fuck you.'

'You like playing hardball then.'

'I'm a quarterback. I run with it.'

'Then we'll see who hits a home run - or who scores a touchdown.'

**_~Flashback~_ **

The guard who had escorted Mack into the warehouse and separated him from Eliot turned him around and marched him right back out. At the door, he handed over a fat envelope. Mack thumbed it open with his one hand, nodding satisfactorily.

'Payment for bringing him in for us just as we promised. Now, the bus will be here in 20 minutes. You go back to the shelter like we told you. You say anything - after today you don't exist.'

The old man nodded again, stuffed the envelope into his jacket and headed for the bus stop to await his ride. This kind of dough negated any regrets he might have had for throwing Army to the wolves. Besides, with the tattoo or without it, he wasn't 'always faithful' anymore.

**_~End Flashback~_ **


	3. Chapter Three

The first day passed satisfactorily for Eliot; not so for Mason, who ordered him to be confined to a storeroom and given a skimpy meal. Eliot, finding himself alone, relaxed for a while. The storeroom had no windows; there were no cameras, and as far as he could tell after a careful inspection, the place wasn't bugged. A cot and a bucket for a toilet were the only furnishings. It was a holding cell. Satisfied that he could speak, he whispered intel to Nate.

'Nate.'

'I'm here, Eliot.'

'You gettin' this?'

'Yeah,' Nate sighed. 'Give me your location.'

'One-story warehouse, empty as far as I can tell. On Lombard near Columbia Slough – it's on the right - two green doors, security guards – two that I could see. Nate - you're the one they're tracking, using me. Don't come. Get Hardison back here.'

'I'll send the whole team after you. You know they're in LA – it might take a day or two to get 'em back up here and get a plan in line. Can you hang on?'

'Have we met?'

Nate grinned. 'Get some sleep. No telling what they have planned – the CIA won't torture you but I'm sure they have other methods in mind.'

'Sounds like fun. Can't wait to find out.'

'Be strong. I trust you, Eliot.'

**_~Flashback~_ **

Eliot crouched in the overgrowth, well-hidden behind a tangle of vines on a hill overlooking the sumptuous home Clyde Shelton had built for himself on the island of San Lorenzo. Clyde Shelton, Moreau's target: in five minutes, Moreau would have someone place a call to Shelton at his desk. Eliot checked the elevation, wind conditions and distance one more time. A clear, cloudless day; the air was dry. Peering through the scope, he placed the crosshairs on Shelton's desk chair. He settled himself for the shot and checked his watch. Just another few minutes. It was almost time.

**_~End Flashback~_ **

Two days of steady interrogation then a third; as the day progressed, Mason became more and more frustrated; he wasn't getting anywhere with this man.

Eliot, although tired and irritable from hours of questioning and lack of sleep, was far from done. 'You sure went to a lot of trouble for nothing.'

'I wouldn't call it nothing,' Mason wheedled. 'Whether or not you give us Ford, we have you…and, I imagine, we can scrape up your cohorts in time. But Nate will go underground and you know it. He's hard to flush out. Look, you know he's a criminal. You're all criminals. But a gang of criminals is nothing without its mastermind. That's what we want, Eliot, your mastermind. We want Nate Ford.'

'Wish you luck.'

'You don't plan to cooperate, I take it.'

'What, are you gonna start with the threats now?!' Eliot shouted. 'What's on your agenda?! Torture?! Starvation?! Heavy metal in the middle of the night?! Twenty degrees, naked with no blankets?! I've already proven that shit doesn't work. Besides, I don't think the bona fide, flag-waving CIA goes in for that kind of stuff.' He paused. 'Do they?'

'You're a real smart-ass, Spencer.' He leaned suddenly across the table and backhanded Eliot across the mouth. Handcuffed to the table, Eliot could only take it, spitting blood on the floor. 'Pay attention to me, you piece of meat! You may as well tell me what I want to know. I can and will keep this up until you do!'

Straightening in his chair, Eliot licked his bloody lip. He grinned insolently at Mason. 'I'm on an extended vacation,' he said in a sly tone. 'You got that kind of time?'

'Look, we know we're dealing with a professional,' Mason told him. 'You were military; you've undoubtedly had a lot of experience. Just short of torture, we have many weapons in our arsenal. We try this weapon and that weapon until we find one that works. You'll talk, Spencer. It's just a matter of time.'

'Take your best shot, Mr. Agent, Sir,' Eliot roared defiantly. He could feel the body heat of someone standing behind him, smell his sweat, hear his respiration. Something was about to go down… He saw Mason nod and felt the sting of a hypodermic on his upper arm. Then he felt nothing.

**_~Flashback~_ **

Shelton completed his tenth lap around the jogging track he'd installed recently with proceeds from the last lucrative job he did for Moreau. He had sent a sufficient quantity of stolen, virginalized diamonds to Moreau – keeping the rest - rewarding himself with a pool, a hot tub and a jogging track. As his wife had shed her responsibilities and left him for someone even higher up the ladder, he now lived alone with a housekeeper, a nanny and his 6-year-old son. A short stint in the sauna would have normally followed laps in the pool, but he remembered the call he was expecting from Moreau; his boss had said it was urgent. He checked his watch. Damn. He'd have to hurry. Flinging a large towel across his shoulders, he slipped into sandals and hurried to his office. He could take the call and get back before his muscles cooled down enough to cramp.

**_~End Flashback~_ **


	4. Chapter Four

Eliot's foggy brain made the journey from total oblivion to some form of vague awareness. It was dark. Wavering sounds like tinkling chimes wafted through his consciousness. A flashlight beam was directed into his face. Someone lifted an eyelid and flicked the light directly on his enlarged pupil, making him wince.

A harsh, blue LED light was flicked on overhead. He kept his eyes shut against it. Using what senses he could command, he assessed his situation. He was supine. He couldn't move a muscle. He had one hell of a headache.

The ethereal chiming in his ears was gradually replaced by wavering voices; louder and louder, they hammered some weird word at him: Airzeightfor. Airzeightfor. Airz eight for. It wasn't a word he remembered and didn't make a damn bit of sense. Who were these guys? Why couldn't they let him alone? All he wanted to do was sleep. When the voices and the tinkling went quiet, it seemed as if he could. Then something big, a wasp the size of a hawk lit on his hand and stung the hell out of him. He fought in vain to get away from it. The voices started up again, more stringent, louder. Airzeightfor. Airzeightfor. Airz eight for!

Somewhere deep in Eliot's mind, one idea surfaced. This was not a far-out peyote trip he had once taken just for the hell of it with a dark-skinned girlfriend in the Arizona desert. This was bad. He sensed the voices were trying to extract information. He couldn't let them inside his head. No way would he betray the team. He locked what he knew in a mental safe even Parker couldn't crack. The voices wanted in; he wasn't having it. He groaned aloud. His earbud was transmitting; his synapses were misfiring from the drugs. Nate was desperately trying to get through to him but all Eliot could hear were strident voices and tinkling chimes.

'Eliot! Eliot! I hear you! Report in! What's going on?! Can. You. Hear. Me? ELIOT!'

**_~Flashback~_ **

Eliot Spencer, hired assassin, peered through the scope. The heat signature registered dead center of the crosshairs. His finger tightened on the trigger, firmly squeezing. The wind kicked up slightly, just enough to move the chimes hanging outside Shelton's window. Eliot's finger relaxed momentarily but tightened again. He had the shot. He was sure.

Using a corner of the towel to mop his forehead, Shelton picked up the phone on the third ring. Moreau wouldn't like that. He liked it when people jumped; when they answered his calls on the first ring, if not before, like the son-of-a-bitch expected you to be psychic or something…

**_~End Flashback~_ **

Eliot gritted his teeth. How long had he been here? How long was this nightmare gonna last? It seemed as if every time he managed to make sense out of anything, the wasp came back. Airzatefor. Wherzatefor. Wherz na for. At last, his brain cells fired correctly and the word made some sense:'Where's Nate Ford?!' Mason yelled in his ear. 'Where can we find Nate Ford?' You know where he is. Tell us his location!'

Now he remembered. The damned CIA had nabbed him so they could nab Nate. No telling how long he'd been there, strapped to a gurney, IV-fed, tube in his bladder, pumped full of drugs. Damned if he'd play. Eliot blearily opened one eye. With a mighty effort he focused on the face hovering over him. Now if he could only make his mouth form words… He took a breath, wet his lips with his tongue. The CIA agent hovered, waiting. 'Where is he?!'

'He's…right behind you,' slurred Eliot.

With reflexes sharpened by instinct, the agent whirled around. He spun back, glowering at Eliot, fist raised.

'Made you look,' murmured Eliot with a feeble grin.

Mason waved the agent off. 'This isn't getting us anywhere,' he snarled. 'Try Psilocybin. Let me know when he's ready.'

'Mason, we can't break this guy. You're gonna make him sick. Maybe even kill him.'

Mason looked at the agent with cold, dead eyes. 'Do I look like I care?'

**_~Flashback~_ **

Shelton's little son Joey loved to play cowboys-and-indians. His father had bought him an outfit made from fake suede with dyed turkey feathers, moccasins, with a little rubber tomahawk. The nanny was worn out playing with him and had told him to go surprise his Daddy. While his father was out jogging, he ran into the office, ducking behind furniture, his childish imagination alive with horses whinnying and cavalry bugles blowing. He crouched down to sneak around his father's massive steel desk. A real good indian could hide! The kneehole was perfect; it was so deep Daddy would never see him and he could jump out and scare him! Plan in place, Joey crawled in, crouched as far back as he could get and quieted his breathing, waiting for Daddy to come. He didn't have to wait long. Daddy's phone was ringing. His shoes scuffed the carpet, running to catch it. He pulled the chair out and sat down. Joey could hear Daddy on the phone: 'Yeah, Moreau. I'm here. What? Well, who the hell is this? –'

Joey lunged out of the kneehole and jumped up beside the chair, grinning. Shelton, startled, was thrown off balance. In that same instant the glass across the large room shattered. Clyde's honed reflexes took over, despite his confusion. He grabbed for the boy, throwing his weight against the chair, tipping it backward.

**_~End Flashback~_ **

A horsefly, an enormous, hideous creature, buzzed into his line of vision. Damn. The wasp hadn't done its job so they called in the big guns. Bastard stung like no other. Some part of his subconscious steeled itself for the reaction.

The psychogenic Psilocybin, added to the IV bag, began its journey down the tube to the needle in Eliot's hand. A minute later, his brain was on fire. Eliot reacted in a way the agents did not anticipate; convulsing and talking out of his head. As his jumbled words grew clearer, a story began to emerge, one that momentarily took their attention from the task before them. He was voluntarily telling them of his days as a hired assassin, telling them of a murder, one that he himself had committed. He was confessing! If they could learn if this was within their jurisdiction, they had him on a federal murder charge. They had only to keep listening.

**_~Flashback~_ **

Shelton's desperately grappling fingers failed to connect with the material of his son's costume. Momentum carried him back out of the way. In the next instant, the desk, the chair, the floor and Shelton's clothes changed colors. Wood grain veneer steel, vinyl and fiber were now mostly dark red with flecks of feathers, tan material, some glass, and chunks of grey matter mixed in. Stunned, Shelton came up on one elbow, gazing in shock at the still form of his only child. Screams permeated the building; the two women who worked for him rushed to his aid. In their confusion, they mixed Spanish and English while one tried dialing the local emergency number, the other dabbed at the reddened carpet. It was too late for an ambulance, too late for anything. Joey never knew what hit him. In his horror, knowing Moreau had put a hit out on him, knowing that hit had taken his son, knowing his life was now shattered, Shelton exploded, screaming at them to get out. They ran as far as the nearest corner, huddled together, sobbing. Clyde cradled the child, sitting for a long time, quiet now, simply staring into space.

**_~End Flashback~_ **


	5. Chapter Five

Nate burned for a drink. He sat holding an empty glass and a full bottle of whiskey for a long time before slamming them down on the bar. If he had to be clear-headed for any job, it was going to be this one. It was more straightforward than most, but he needed it to go smoothly. He picked up his phone. The first step was to get the team back.

Sophie, posing as a representative of a large diamond retailer, was perched daintily on the edge of a Queen Anne chair in the swindler's luxurious office, working a scam in order to buy a quantity of diamonds for her firm. This worked to distract him while Parker worked her magic on the safe in the basement, swapping the velvet pouch of gems stolen from their client with one containing glass marbles. Parker giggled a little as she swapped them out, imagining the old bastard's reaction. Hardison, parked down the street in his van, cleared the low-level security throughout the house – like Sophie had said, piece of cake. Hardly worth their time, really…but Hardison had a thing for old ladies…and this one needed their help.

Sophie's phone vibrated softly within the expensive handbag resting on her lap. She smiled prettily at the man, who so far, had been eating out of her hand. 'Will you excuse me for just one moment – may I use your powder room?'

'Of course,' he smiled, through crocodile teeth. 'Just to the right.' His eyes followed her all the way to the door.

Once inside the bathroom, she checked for bugs as a security precaution then answered the phone. 'Nate?'

'Yeah, Sophie, I need you all to stop what you're doing and get back here. Let the old lady and her diamonds go for now.'

'Now?! But Nate, we're almost done!'

'I don't care, drop it and get back here at once. It's an emergency. I'll explain when you get back to headquarters.'

**_~Flashback~_ **

Despite the wind kicking up as it had, it was a clean shot. The heat signature was strong in the scope; upright one second, down the next. Eliot, satisfied he'd completed his mission, shouldered the rifle and removed all traces of his presence. He vanished into the woods. He'd left a truck waiting on the other side of the hill. As he made his way back to it, he thought maybe this would be the last hit. He was getting tired of killing for Moreau. Maybe he'd go back to the States, go into some other line of work. There had to be something better…

**_~End Flashback~_ **

The team assembled around the conference table, curious as to why they had been pulled off the job. Nate didn't waste any time.

'It's Eliot. He took on a job by himself and it backfired.'

'How bad did it backfire?' asked Parker.

'Bad. Crooked CIA agent. His life is in danger.'

'You shouldn't have allowed it, Nate!' exclaimed Sophie, distraught. 'You shouldn't have allowed him to go!'

'Since when does Eliot allow himself to be allowed to do something?!' Hardison countered.

'However it happened, we have get him back. Now, this is so simple it's not even worthy of us, but I think it'll work.' Nate lined out the job for them. 'Now let's go steal us a hitter.'

'Damn straight,' said Hardison.

~~~~~~~~~~

A burly guard stationed outside the warehouse aggressively challenged the young woman who had just emerged from the driver's seat of a late model Chevy. 'What's your business here, Miss?'

Sophie's hair was in a low ponytail. An orange hard hat was perched on her head, and she was dressed in fire retardant coveralls. She frantically waved a clipboard at him.

'Guard! Oh, guard! Thank heavens! I hope you can help me. I need to locate a rather badly misdirected shipment. Oh! Please tell me it was delivered here! My supervisor is in the car,' she gestured behind her. Hardison, in business suit and tie, glared at Sophie from the passenger seat.

'Get it done, Maggie. Get it done right now or you're fired!' he yelled.

'You see? It was all my fault, I typed the wrong address on the paperwork. UPS was no help whatsoever; now it's up to me! Don't you see, if I don't find it, I'm fired! Please tell me you have it!'

'Miss, I don't have anything, including a clue to what you're talking about – this is private property and I suggest you get the hell out of here. NOW.' He put a hand on his nightstick and moved forward threateningly. Sophie observed that while he had handcuffs and a baton, he carried no gun. Rent-a-cop. Big, threatening, but stupid. She'd dealt with the type before.

'No, PLEASE, sir, I just need to look inside your warehouse – there's a skid with twelve boxes, see? Here's the bill of lading…' She stuck the clipboard in his face. 'Twelve cartons, and in each are four large bottles of highly corrosive liquid, UN 4G, certified performance ... 49 CFR 173.136…'

While Sophie played nervous and argued with the guard, keeping his attention on her and throwing him off by casting apprehensive glances back at her 'boss,' an large truck pulled up. Hardison got out of the car and angrily directed the driver to unload a forklift mounted on the back and open the truck.

The other guard went to talk to Hardison, who seemed very pissed off, waving his hands and pointing condemning fingers at Sophie. He was telling the guard in no uncertain terms that their skid was at this warehouse and they were going back to the loading dock to get it. He was tired of the runaround and he was going to fire Maggie even if they did get the shipment back because she was incompetent.

'Don't you understand?' Hardison yelled. 'It's corrosive. COR-OH-SIVE. Like melt you into a puddle, man. It ain't a case of 'you break it, you bought it' - it's a case of calling the EPA out here. You understand?! Is that what you want?!'

While Hardison distracted the second guard, Sophie was still working on the first one. Meanwhile, a black, heavyset truckdriver smoking a cigar got into the forklift and drove it full speed around to the back of the building.

~~~~~~~~~~

Parker had been dropped off out of sight of the warehouse. She made her way in on foot. Swiftly deactivating the lock on the loading dock door at the rear, she raised it and entered the warehouse. Wraithlike, she began casing the building. The truckdriver halted his forklift, spat out his cigar, dismounted and followed her.

Moving stealthily, Parker and the truckdriver, hearing voices, each withdrew a stun gun. They glanced at each other, nodded, and positioned themselves on each side of a door. Inside the room, through the glass pane, they could see two men, sweaty, sleeves rolled up, hammering questions at a man strapped to a gurney. It was Eliot. He was in a bad way; his eyes focused on nothing, his hands shook in their restraints and his long hair was matted to his scalp. The truckdriver kicked the door in forcefully. He took aim with his stun gun and took down Mason, who shrieked and dropped, twitching. Parker did the same to the other agent. Kicking the two alive but inert bodies aside, they grabbed Eliot's gurney, IVs and all, and rolled him quickly down the warehouse, out through the loading dock door and down the ramp. They swiftly strapped the whole thing to the forklift. Parker rode on the front, holding it steady. The truckdriver sped back down the alleyway and through his earbud gave the order: 'Hardison. We have him. NOW!'

~~~~~~~~~~

Hardison stopped yelling. With a complete change of demeanor, he said, quite calmly, as if he was conceding the argument, 'You know, man, you are absolutely right. Nothing and nobody has any business trying to get anything past you. You are one fine, upstanding, righteous piece of guard flesh…and it really hurts me to have to…'

Hardison brought a small shock stick out of his jacket and let the guard have it in the neck. A solar plexus blow like Eliot had taught him and a firm uppercut took the guard down. Hardison ran to help Sophie, who, upon hearing the order from Nate, began furiously beating her guard over the head with her clipboard. As the guard struggled for his nightstick, Hardison first shocked him and then used his own nightstick on him. He grabbed Sophie's arm. They raced to the car just as the truck driver pulled the loaded forklift up to the truck. Leaving the forklift behind, they quickly loaded Eliot into the truck. Parker hopped in after him and the truckdriver ran to the cab. Before the guards could rouse themselves, the two vehicles were gone, clouds of dust roiling after them.

~~~~~~~~~~

On the road, the team kept in contact with each other through their comm system. Hardison and Sophie led the way in the car. In the truck's rear, behind a curtain, Nate had set up a makeshift emergency room. A doctor, one on Nate's personal payroll, and one nurse swayed on their feet, but managed to give first aid. They took Eliot's vitals, removed the IV and did an initial evaluation of their patient. Nate had also equipped the doctor with an earbud. He could drive the truck and monitor Eliot's treatment.

'How is he, doc?'

'Give me a minute, Mr. Ford; these aren't exactly optimal conditions.' The truck swayed, hit a bump then slowed down. 'Damn it!' the doctor exclaimed. 'Can't we get him to a hospital?'

'We're on our way to Legacy Emanuel – it's the closest.'

'Good. We can get him into a detox room there,' the doctor responded.

'They had him on mushrooms. Isn't there an antidote or an antitoxin you can give him?' Nate asked.

'No...I can't tell for sure, but from the way he's acting, if they gave him what I think they gave him, there's no antidote anyway,' said the doctor. 'About all we can do is monitor him. He needs to be in a quiet, dim room until this wears off. I suspect it's psilocybin poisoning. In that case, we can give diazepam but we need to test him to be sure. The good news is he should be over this in twenty-four hours; a couple of days at the most.'

'And the bad news?

'He's badly dehydrated and having convulsions. I gotta warn you, after we get this out of his system, his personality could change; he could become violent. We often see tachycardia in these cases, even coma. We'll just have to wait and see.'

The doctor and nurse had commandeered every inch of Eliot's body for needles, tubes and monitors - all except his feet. Parker braced herself against the gurney, reached out and placed her hands on the blanket covering them. They were twitching against the straps. She dropped her head; the blanket grew damp with her tears.


	6. Chapter Six

**_~Flashback~_ **

In his hotel room, Eliot sat cleaning his rifle. The phone rang; it was a call he expected. He placed the phone between his cheek and shoulder, still working on the gun.

'Mr. Spencer.' It was Moreau. Bastard.

'Moreau. Yeah. What you ordered...it's done,' he said flatly.

'It's done. Huh. That is not what I hear. I hear you've lost your edge, Mr. Spencer.' Moreau's voice had a sarcastic quality to it. Eliot knew this tone well and didn't like it.

'My ed- what the fuck are you talking about?'

'Your edge. Your skill level. Your ability. Call it what you will, you seem to have lost it,' Moreau said lightly. 'Didn't you know? You missed the mark. You missed the target.'

Eliot stopped cleaning the gun.

'The hell I did, Moreau – I saw Shelton go down in the scope. It was a clean shot.'

'Did you go down there to check?'

'Why in hell would I do that? To get caught and take the rap for your dirty work? It's done, that's all you need to worry about. Just get my money to me. I've had enough - I'm going back to the States. After today I've decided I don't work for you anymore.'

'You know, you're right; I agree with that last statement. You don't work for me anymore. Also, unfortunately, no payment this time. I don't pay for misses. I don't pay for inconsequential targets...'

'Moreau, start making sense!'

'You did not kill Clyde Shelton.'

'Look, Moreau, you set it up...whoever answered the phone...wait a minute, you said 'inconsequential target.' Who the fuck did I kill?'

'Shelton's son, Mr. Spencer...you killed Shelton's son. Missed Shelton altogether. I admit it was very narrow miss; small child, you probably didn't read his heat signature in front of his father's - I'm sure you didn't mean to hit the boy, but it seems, Mr. Spencer, I hired the wrong man for the job. I'll have to be more careful next time.' Moreau hung up the phone.

Eliot, stunned, let the phone fall to the floor. For a minute the air left his lungs like he'd been punched beneath the breastbone. He was nauseous. The enormity of what he had done washed over him. After today, he would never be the same again. Suddenly, in a flash of movement, he expertly disassembled the rifle. He flung the components forcefully across the room.

**_~End Flashback~_ **

The team was back at headquarters. Eliot was still in the hospital, already wanting out, but forced to stay for observation by order of his physician…and a promise to Nate. His condition had greatly improved. Nate took a sip of his Scotch, ignoring Sophie, who really didn't seem that concerned about his drinking habits at the moment.

'How is Eliot?' asked Sophie. 'Is he going to be all right?'

'I don't know how anybody could have survived the chemical nightmare they put him through, man,' said Hardison, as he raised yet another orange soda to his lips.

'The doctor said it will take some time, but he'll eventually be himself again,' Nate assured them. They all breathed a sigh of relief. 'Team, congratulations,' he continued, praising them. He raised his glass in salute. 'You came through - and got one of our own back.'

'I'm rather proud of the way we handled it, too, me and Sophie finally able to bust heads ourselves, and Parker doing her thing as always; way to go, girl,' he said, fist-bumping Parker. 'But, boss...I gotta tell ya, what you did was NOT P.C., NOT politically correct, NO WAY; it was crass; it was cold, it was insensitive. My feeling are hurt.'

'Why, Hardison,' said Nate, grinning, 'we always utilize disguises. You never complained before.'

'This time ... it's just ... this time, man ... it was just… crass, man, just crass.'

'You said 'crass' three times,' Parker observed.

Sophie jokingly ventured her opinion. 'I thought he looked rather cute. Made me rethink what attracts me to a man.'

Hardison was goaded. 'Well, if posing as a Brother in this day and age is cute, I just … I just … I dunno, a fat suit is one thing, but an Afro wig on top of blackface, that's a little much, is all I can say. I mean this ain't Big Momma's House...'

'Who's Big Momma? Your momma?' Parker asked.

'Just ... just ... shut up, Parker,' Hardison fumed.

'Look at it this way Hardison,' Nate said comfortingly, 'Eliot was going through hell trying to protect me. I had to be somebody they wouldn't recognize. I had to be there with you; we all needed each other to pull this off. We had lost our 'hands.' All we had was our 'brain,' our 'legs,' our 'eyes' and our 'heart.' We were incomplete without Eliot. And, at the same time, we discovered that, if absolutely necessary, we can fill in for each other.'

'Sometimes, not always,' corrected Hardison. 'I'd like to see you piggyback a signal on top of another one...'

'I could do it,' Parker said confidently.

'You could not.'

'Could too.'

'Could not.'

'The main thing is…' Nate commanded their attention, effective scotching the childish argument that had ensued. 'The main thing is, Eliot is going to be all right.'

'Good. We couldn't do what we do without Eliot,' said Parker. The feeling in her voice brought a sidelong glance from Hardison, who had never heard her speak with such emotion before. The kid was learning. Hope for her yet, maybe.

'Dude never gave you away, did he,' said Hardison.

'Nope,' said Nate. His expression grew serious. 'He did betray one of us, however.'

'What you talkin', man?' Hardison wanted to know. 'Who?!'

Nate walked around the table, looking at each of them. 'While Eliot was under the influence, his earbud was receiving and transmitting, but he couldn't hear me. I could hear him. They were getting information out of him, all right. I heard everything he told them. Nothing the CIA could use, because it all took place in San Lorenzo. No jurisdiction there.' Nate paused, sipping his drink. He took another sip, then a third. Parker, in her impatience, spoke up.

'So? Nate? Are you going to tell us about it or is it a state secret?'

Nate swirled what was left of his drink and finished it off. He perched on the couch next to Parker, talking to her as a father would. 'Remember he told you once, Parker, not to ask him what the worst thing was that he ever did for Moreau? Because if you asked him, he'd tell you?'

'Yeah? So, I never asked him. I didn't think he wanted me to know.'

'And he never told you, right?'

'Hell, I don't think anybody could get that out of him, Nate,' Hardison said. 'It's just somethin' he ain't gonna talk about.'

Nate continued, quietly. 'Eliot talked about it. He told me. It's why he hates guns.'

'He did? Well, tell us,' Parker and Hardison said, practically in unison.

Sophie watched Nate's face. His expression went oddly blank; she'd seen it a thousand times. The team could nag him from now until forever but they'd never find out. She'd bet the diamonds she had stashed in her Gucci on that. They'd finished the job. They could return the gems to the rightful owner at their leisure. She smiled.

'Mind you, he doesn't know that he told me,' Nate said, as if to himself. 'It came out quite by accident under the juice: the very worst thing Eliot Spencer ever did in his service to Damien Moreau.' Nate paused. He glanced at Sophie...his gaze fell to Hardison...then to Parker.

Nate said, 'You know how Sophie keeps her real name to herself?' Parker and Hardison nodded. 'Well, guys, this is something I'm going to have to keep to myself. I owe it to him. Sorry, Parker...but It's going to have to remain a state secret.'

**~The End~**

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: The 'worst thing that Eliot ever did for Moreau' has generated much speculation. It must be something truly horrific - to him. Something to turn him away from guns forever. Something that will haunt him to the end of his days. My co-writer thought of this plot device, for which I thank her.


End file.
